


Sweet Dreams

by mirrorlad



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blood Pacts, Canon Gay Relationship, Emotional Hurt, Established Relationship, Feels, Hogwarts, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, One Shot, Post-Movie 2: Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald, Thestrals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:20:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26157928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirrorlad/pseuds/mirrorlad
Summary: Gellert Grindelwald visits Albus Dumbledore in the late hours of the night.
Relationships: Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald
Comments: 2
Kudos: 92





	Sweet Dreams

Gellert Grindelwald wants Albus Dumbledore.

It doesn’t matter how or when he should come; he simply wants the wizard at his side, to touch, to hold, to love. He desires more than anything for the man to stride up to Nurmengard and announce his newfound allegiance; a small smile on his face and an apology on his lips for ever leaving him. He wants him to confess he never truly let go of their shared ideals, and that _The Greater Good_ has been in his heart for all these years, despite his many attempts to be rid of it. Perhaps most of all, he wishes his former lover would return just one of the letters he sends him at the end of every month. He can no longer bear the ache of disappointment that always clenches his heart upon seeing his eagle owl land on the windowsill after delivering his messages, never once with a reply. 

He knows Albus receives them. He can see the drawer from where he’s sitting, hanging lowly out of a beaten old desk. The papers within it are piled high, an overflowing mountain built up from years and years of letters. From what he can see, Albus has kept all of them. The majority of them are wrinkled and torn, implying they’ve been read and reread countless times. A stray parchment on the ground, not far from the rest of the heap, confirms his theory that the man has been hoarding them. The date in the corner reads _May 29th, 1905_ in inky lettering. It’s one of the first he ever sent. A small part of him wonders whether his old lover yearns to write back to him, but chooses not to due to their estrangement. He had seen unwritten letters lying on Albus’ desk before, all beginning with _'_ _dear'_ but never quite making it past the salutations. During one of his previous visits two winters ago, he swore he saw his name written on a draft that managed to stretch a few lines past the heading, but it had all been crossed out. He knows he could very well go over to the table and prove his suspicion right, but he never does. As much as he wants to touch, to hold, he doesn’t. There’s little left between him and Albus, a few lines connecting them that haven’t been crossed. He doesn’t wish to break anymore. 

His eyes are drawn back to the prone form in front of him, lying motionless in bed and breathing gently. Moonlight from an open window illuminates dark lashes against milky skin and causes the auburn streaks in a pool of light brown hair to gleam like a cardinal among tree branches. His eyes linger on slightly parted lips, and the way they softly twitch once and a while. He wants to touch Albus’ mouth, to feel it’s warmth against his own, and to run his fingers through his tangled mess of hair, holding it in his hands for hours. But he doesn’t. It doesn’t matter how much he wants to love the man in front of him, to touch, to hold. He never does. 

He notices with a slight frown that Albus’ beard is getting longer. He can’t say he ever liked it exactly; it reminds him of how quickly time is moving, of how long ago they were both boys. Summer days of laughing under a scorching sun and swimming in icy water are beginning to seem more like a distant dream than a memory. He remembers the first time he truly realized he was in love with Albus Dumbledore, after jokingly pulling him down beneath the surface of a lake in Godric’s Hallow. The teen had sprung up from the watery depths alongside him after a few seconds, looked at him, and let out the purest and loudest of laughs. He remembers the way Albus’ dark blue eyes shimmered, and how his giggles sounded like a songbird when he wasn’t stopping every once and a while to gasp for breath, and the way his eyes seemed to match the color of the waves rippling around them. He wants to wake Albus up, wants to pry open his closed eyelids just so he can see the color of them again, to make sure he hadn’t forgotten. But he doesn’t. As much as he wants to touch his face, to grip his head in his hands and get lost in all the shades of Albus’ sapphire eyes, he never does.

He watches his first and only lover sleep for a few more hours until the room grows black from the moon shifting its position. He hardly notices it, getting lost in the way Albus breathes, the rhythm of his chest rising and falling almost unbearably hypnotic. His imprisonment in MACUSA was harsh, but it was nothing compared to the torture of having something you desire in your grasp, yet not being able to close your fist. Albus Dumbledore sleeping blissfully unaware in front of him was crueler than any punishment they had given him, even crueler still knowing he could do nothing more than watch. Every muscle in his body wanted to take, wanted to love, but it couldn’t. He remembers the sixth months he spent in his tiny, dirty cell, and how the prospect of not knowing when he’d be able to escape failed to hold a light to not knowing when he could see Albus again. He had last visited him at midnight one day in early October, a few months before his capture, yet it had felt like years ago. He remembers lying awake every night, imagining those eyes, closed and fast asleep across the ocean where he could not get to them. Even now, being so close to them, the pain still lingers. He hates the way his feet itch to move, to climb into the bed alongside Albus among those silken sheets. He wants to press his hands to his chest, feel his heartbeat, and know he belongs to him. But he doesn’t. As much as he wants to touch the expanse of skin showing beneath Albus’ nightshirt, to hold his chest to his ear and hear the heart that he wished still belonged to him, he never does.

It’s the beginning hours of the morning when he finally moves, but it’s still hours away from the crack of dawn. He reluctantly lifts himself from his chair, silently stretching out his stiff limbs before walking to the window. He spares one last glance to Albus, memorizing every last curve and feature of his face and figure.

“Sweet dreams, my eine liebe.” 

He murmurs quietly. A part of him wants Albus to smile, to look at him with those brilliant eyes, to bid him goodbye and kiss him, but he never does. He turns away. 

Pulling himself up through the window, he stops for a moment, his fingers feeling for the silvery pendant hanging from his neck. He had been rather shocked when he found it missing a month before, but it had been quite the miracle when he it found strewn upon Albus’ nightstand as if awaiting his return. Grinning, he squeezed it for a moment. It’s the one thing he can touch, the one thing he can hold, and the one thing he can love. It’s a reminder of Albus, of those summer days long since faded. It belongs to both of them, that it always has, so he knows he can touch it, hold it, and love it. Albus no longer belongs to him, as much as he wished it wasn’t so. 

He can only touch, hold, and love what is his. 

He gives the blood pact one last squeeze before tucking it beneath his shirt, not wanting to lose it again. Lowering himself out of the window, he looks around at the castle around him. He had never gone to Hogwarts himself, but the grey stone and faded green tiling surrounding him in the form of spires and towers are oddly comforting. He pauses, taking it all in for a second before turning to his ride. The thestral he had flown on hadn’t moved since he left it; the bony beast was still perched outside the window, it’s head resting delicately under one of its wings. It cooed at him tamely as he swung himself on to it. Leaping silently off the roof, they soared away, flapping away into the night. 

Gellert Grindelwald doesn’t notice as he leaves how Albus Dumbledore sighs gloomily in his sleep, or how he rolls over restlessly in bed, already missing the presence currently gliding away under a starry sky.

He never does. 

**Author's Note:**

> Me: Has a grindeldore series I should be working on.  
> Also me: Let’s write a one shot! 
> 
> Jokes aside, I hope you all enjoyed this, and thanks for reading! Feel free to leave me a comment, I love any type of feedback!
> 
> (eine liebe = one love)


End file.
